I snapped on the TV while picking up my room and viewed parts of a show on serial killers which turned out to be instructional to me, though not the most entertaining, to be sure.
It helped me gain insight into the "why's" of my past and understand how my late husband could actually enjoy lying and tormenting me mentally. I was justified in some of my fears and now I know that I can let it go. I am safer and at peace.
He really enjoyed his lies because I had stopped providing the supply that he so badly needed. There was no logical way I could support his fake statements because they had become laughable, but I knew better than to laugh at him, with a few exceptions.
Having others provide awe and admiration as a result of his lies just fueled his desire to have me believe them as well. Every night he came into my room and eased into the game, but when it didn't work well for him, he smiled and waited for the next day to try again to win my mind or drive me crazy enough to leave him.
It must have gotten tiring for him to live the double life that he lived, and I think he thought that if he could just get me to leave, his life would be simpler and easier.
He certainly needed an easier life even though he wasn't really working at the business because his poor health was robbing him of the energy to do much at all.
I began to really get the picture when I realized that he was enjoying his making me a target. He told me one day that he was going to "get well and do what I want."
He sounded like a six-year-old when he talked, and there was no threat in the tone of his voice. He deserved to have the life he wanted and I was standing in his way.
In the end he was too sick to live alone so he came to the kitchen and told me we needed each other and that was the way it was. When I gave no reply, he stomped back to his easy chair in the bedroom. This time it was a threat because Son and Daughter had told him I was leaving him. He said that wasn't allowed and he would not permit it, however he never mentioned it to me.
The summer of his last hospitalization he reminded me that it was the third anniversary of his brain tumor surgery, and this time the tone of his childish voice was as though it was the best thing that ever happened to him. He couldn't remember or celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary or any of our mutual birthdays, and I got to the point where I dreaded the thought of a celebration of any kind, but he could look fondly upon this special anniversary in his life and I was supposed to be so happy and impressed. He lived less than three more months after that.
I understand it now. He loved the lying and he loved the stories because they gave him such a mental high and so many people believed them. I long ago had given up on attempting to correct the stories and restore any sanity to our lives.
I just went along for the ride. That is what probably kept me alive. It is so important that I avoid people who believed those lies. They are toxic to me. And there are so many of them out there, including my relatives! I am happier alone.
Cornfield
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